


Kevin

by sm1019



Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Gen, M/M, bom secret Santa 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:20:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21947968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sm1019/pseuds/sm1019
Summary: At nineteen years old, Elder Price is miserable.
Relationships: Arnold Cunningham & Kevin Price, Elder "Connor" McKinley/Kevin Price
Comments: 16
Kudos: 53





	Kevin

At nineteen years old, Elder Price is miserable.

Standing in the rain, he watches as their newly framed eating hut slowly breaks apart. It is the rainy season, and perhaps the district was foolish to think they could accomplish much during the deluge, but they had wanted to try. 

“Well, this is unfortunate,” he says, to absolutely no one. The other Elders, including Arnold, are inside the mission hut keeping dry and playing their eight-thousandth game of _Trivial Pursuit_. Kevin hates that game. He has no idea how anyone would know who the official hair consultant to the 1984 Los Angeles Olympics was, or why they would want to. The game isn’t fun or interesting; it’s terribly boring and lasts twice as long as Monopoly. Of course, this could just be the result of their being so sheltered. Who knows. 

Taking a bite of the papaya he is holding, Kevin tips his head to the side. The structure has shifted precariously to left. Some of the logs have sunk into the muddy earth, and the thatched roof threatens to slide off completely. It is only half covering the structure now, and Kevin finds himself praying the wind does not pick up again. It was a pain getting it up the first time; he cannot imagine having to do so, again.

He will, though, if he must, because the hut is not for the district; it's for the village of Kitguli, so their friends might have a shady spot to sit beneath and eat, as opposed to outside beneath the blazing sun. It is the first of several structures the district intends to construct, but with just how poorly this one is coming along, Kevin doubts they’ll cross even two off their list. Still, he imagines seeing just one come to fruition will be satisfying. They are a handful of nineteen and twenty-year-old boys, ill-equipped to build anything, yet somehow managed to construct a frame that has (mostly) withstood the rain and wind. If the ground was anything other than dirt, Kevin is certain it would still be standing upright. There is a sense of pride to be felt by that, he supposes, so Kevin basks in it, taking another bite of his fruit.

Pride comes few and far between these days, with each of his accomplishments heading many more of his failures. No matter what Kevin does, he cannot even out the equation. It is frustrating. Elder McKinley likes to say _a saint is a_ _sinner_ _who keeps on trying_ and Kevin supposes that’s true. He has yet to give up on any of this, though it really would be easy to. Kevin has thought about turning his back on the district more times than he cares to admit, but the district is not what’s keeping him here - it’s the village. He does not want to leave and leave his friends with less than nothing. So he stays, and tries and fails; and fails and fails and fails. Rinse and repeat; for almost three months, now.

There are seven of them left. Elder Michaels left as soon as the district shut down, and Elders Davis and Schrader a couple weeks later. Some of them are teetering on the thought of leaving, while others seem contented where they are. Kevin is often somewhere in-between, his heart warring with his head when it comes to what he wants. He does not remember ever being this indecisive.

Sighing, Kevin tosses the pit and peel behind him along with his thoughts.

“Elder Price. Might I ask what you’re doing out here, _exactly_?”

Kevin turns to look over his shoulder, at Elder McKinley who stands there sopping wet. “I’m watching our hut collapse.” He points at it, as though McKinley cannot see that for himself.

“If you must know, Elder Cunningham is worried about you. Not enough to come out here, himself, apparently, but worried nonetheless.”

Kevin snorts, then turns back around. The rain is lightening up some; with any luck, they’ll be able to come out here tomorrow and fix the mess it left behind. “What a pal,” he says, carding a hand through his hair. It’s wet and tangled, and his fingers get stuck partway through. “Well, you can tell Arnold I’m fine. I just needed some air, that’s all. And a shower.”

Elder McKinley hums, rocks on his heels as he stares at the back of Kevin’s head. “I see. Well. Please come inside once you’re suitably clean. Elder Neeley is about to bore us with another sordid tale of his promiscuous youth, and I’d appreciate it if you did not make me suffer through it alone.”

Kevin forces a laugh, pulling his hand from his hair. It falls listlessly to his side. “Oh, well, in _that_ case I’ll be right there.” Except for how he won’t be. Elder McKinley, aware of this fact, turns on his heels and leaves. Kevin watches him go; sees how McKinley’s hands are balled into fists at his side. He is losing control of the district, day by day, and Kevin knows it bothers him. He had _one job_ and failed worse than the rest of them. The blame falls on his shoulders; not Arnold’s, not Kevin’s. It’s why Kevin still makes an effort to follow the rules, which have more or less been discarded. He is still a good missionary in the eyes of Elder McKinley, and he’d like to keep it that way. It is nice to feel appreciated, even by one person.

He thinks Arnold might still appreciate him, sometimes, but it is getting harder to tell. His companion’s attention has started shifting elsewhere; towards Nabulungi, specifically, and further away from Kevin. It upsets him, more than he cares to admit. They had a couple months of the best best-friendship Kevin could have asked for, but now it is starting to feel like they are back by the bus stop, when Arnold pushed him away. It hurts; and doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. Then again, Kevin is not a pretty girl with a beautiful smile, so maybe it does.

The thought follows him back into the mission hut, where he leaves a trail of water on the floor. Elder McKinley sighs loudly, hefting up from the couch to mop up Kevin’s mess. It has become somewhat of a pastime for him: picking up after everyone who is old enough to pick up after themselves.

_It’s my job_ , he’d said, when Kevin asked why he bothered; _surely, you know that much, Elder Price_.

Kevin did know; but as the days turned into weeks turned into months, it became apparent that it was not so much a job as it was a distraction. From the gnawing hunger, maybe, or the intrusive thoughts that seem to send McKinley into a foray of nail-biting and agitation at least fifteen times a day.

_Staying was such a stupid idea_ , he often says, with a thumb between his teeth; _are you still too blind to see that?_

Kevin was, at first, but now he sees with perfect clarity: the district is hungry and tired, filthy and broken, and they are still so young. Most of them have never held a job, before, and still long for their mother’s kiss before bedtime. Zelder misses his dog and Church cries himself to sleep every night. Kevin can hear him through the thin wall that separates their bedrooms. If he was kinder, Kevin thinks he would go over there and hug him; say he understands, since he does.

_My dad’s an asshole, too;_ Kevin would say. _Fuck them._

“Hey, uh, Kev?” Arnold knocks on the door to their bedroom, hovering just outside. “Can I come in?”

Kevin rolls his eyes, turning his back to his companion. “This is your room, too,” he says, loosening his tie. “You know you don’t have to ask.”

He always does, though, because Arnold is polite. The other Elders don’t think so, but that’s because they don’t know him. They don’t _want_ to know him, which is perfectly fine with Kevin. That is six less people competing for Arnold’s attention.

“Yeah, I know, but you seem like you wanna be alone, buddy.“ Arnold shifts his weight, then leans against the doorframe; “So.”

Kevin tosses his tie onto the floor, followed by his shirt; “So? You can still come in here, Arnold.”

“Elder Neeley says you’re on your period.” Arnold finally steps into the room, lingering just inside the doorway. It bothers Kevin that he won’t come any closer. He always used to. The concept of personal space didn’t exist, even a few days ago. “I know you’re not, ‘cause that’s a lady thing, but I know something’s wrong, ‘cause you’re so -” he mimics Kevin’s expression. “I just wish you’d tell me _why_. Are you unhappy here, Kev? Is that it? ‘Cause you can go home, if you wanna. I won’t, like, _hate_ you, or anything.” Arnold holds up a hand, scout’s honor, then does his best to smile genuinely. The fact it falls a little bit short, makes Kevin feel a bit better. The fact Arnold would let him leave, however, does not.

“I feel _fine_ , alright?” After toeing off his shoes, Kevin sits on the edge of his bed and peels off his socks. His feet feel warm and clammy. If he were home, he’d be well on his way to a shower. “People have bad days, pal. Even me.”

Arnold frowns, fidgeting with his hands a bit; “Yeah, I _know_ , but -”

His words are cut off by a knock to their doorframe. Kevin leans back, peering around Arnold to scowl at the intrusion. Elder Thomas gives him a half-hearted wave. “Dinner’s ready,” he says, dropping his hand. “Oh! – and I’m supposed to tell you there’s mandazis out there, Elder Price.” Thomas grins; “To soften the blow, if I had to guess.”

Kevin falls back upon his bed with a groan. Mandazis are never a good sign. Elder McKinley always pulls out a crumpled paper bag of the things whenever he needs one of them to do something particularly awful. The last time they were offered to Kevin, he was told to climb down their well’s wobbly, rusty rebar ladder to figure out why the pump was sucking up mud. As if the dirt walls crumbling into the water wasn’t bad enough, there was also a poisonous snake down there. Kevin could have _died_ ; and he said as much, wagging a finger in McKinley’s face while dripping mud all over the district’s tiny kitchen.

_You’re the absolute worst_ , he’d shouted. _No wonder you wouldn’t go down there, yourself!_

Elder McKinley had fed Kevin some line about how brave and strong he was, which was the only reason he’d asked. _If I was wrong, I apologize_ , he’d said.

It was a cruel trick and one Kevin continues to fall for, because yes, he _is_ strong, and he _is_ brave – just not in the way McKinley means it.

“Do you have any idea why there’d be mandazis?” Kevin turns his attention to Arnold. His companion’s shirt is half untucked, and there’s a bruise beneath his jaw. Kevin lifts his head; “Hey, what happened to your neck?” 

“Huh? _Oh_.“ Arnold laughs, louder than usual, covering the mark with a hand. “I dunno, Kev. I’ll meet you out there, buddy.”

“Yeah, okay.” Kevin’s head is starting to hurt. He thought they were past all the lying; apparently not. “Whatever.”

“It’s a hickey,” Elder Thomas says, unhelpfully. Kevin didn’t realize he was still standing there. “Naba sunk her teeth in, I guess.” Thomas opens and closes his jaw, around air.

“Yes, I _know_ , Elder.” Kevin scowls, standing from the bed. He does not bother putting his shirt back on; damp garments will have to suffice.  
  


* * *

  
His mother used to say that rain was a cleansing force, capable of restoring calm and peace and strengthening one’s faith and testimony. Yet, by the time he joins the others for dinner, Kevin is still unhappy. Maybe that’s why she stopped.

Elder McKinley smiles at Kevin from his perch atop an overturned crate. It’s warm, the humidity suffocating, and yet McKinley seems perfectly composed. He eats posho and beans with his fingers, licking them clean despite the dirt beneath his nails. Kevin has never seen anyone take to the rusticity of this life so effortlessly; it is almost as though he enjoys it.

“Now: before things inevitably take a turn for the worse between us, I just wanted to say: you really _are_ doing great work here, Elder Price. I’m impressed.”

“Thanks,” Kevin says, staring down at his own bowl of food. It is mostly untouched; his hunger having waned beneath the oppressive heat and his companion’s gross misbehavior. “But it isn’t just me, we’re all working hard.

“Some of us more than others,” he adds under a breath, stealing a glance towards Elder Neeley. He is sitting between Zelder and Church, two fingers pressed against his face in a V, sticking out his tongue to a chorus of _you didnts_ and _what did she taste likes._ It’s a maddening display of disrespect. Kevin wishes he had the energy anymore to march over there and pull Neeley away; to tell him that if he doesn’t take their service here seriously, then he might as well go home. It would not be any great loss from Kevin’s perspective; the fewer of them there are, the more they seem to accomplish.

“Still, it’s impressive and you should give yourself more credit. This district has accomplished more with your being here, than it ever did without you; and while Elder Cunningham certainly gets things started, it’s you who sees everything through to the end.”

Kevin hums, only half paying attention; “Yeah, well, we make a pretty good team.” Or they did, when Arnold still had time for him. These days, his companion spends more time flirting with Nabulungi than he does focusing on their work, which is still the whole, entire reason that they’re here; and while Kevin may not say so aloud, he would much rather be at home with his family than in Uganda, pricking his finger every time he has a headache - which is exactly why he hasn’t said a single thing about the one he currently has.

“– and that’s exactly why I’m sending you and Elder Cunningham.” Elder McKinley flicks a bean in Kevin’s direction; it hits against his cheek and falls off. “Lord knows Elder Zelder couldn’t get it done.”

“Get _what_ done?” Kevin rubs at his temples, pulling his eyes away from Elder Neeley long enough to stare at McKinley.

“Mutumbo’s sister, Dembe, is laboring in one of the neighboring villages,” he explains, setting his bowl down. “Since the General killed her husband, she is also alone. I agreed to send Elder Cunningham there for moral support, since there’s no greater honor around here, apparently.”

“Apparently,” Kevin echoes, turning his head enough to glance at his companion. Nabulungi is perched on one of Arnold’s knees, giggling at every gosh darn thing that comes out of his mouth. It’s disgusting; so, when Arnold catches him staring, Kevin’s glad to look away.

“Plus,” McKinley continues, leaning forward; “I thought it might give you two a chance to talk.”

“About what?”

“About anything.” McKinley rests a hand on Kevin’s knee, giving it a squeeze. “It’s obvious you miss him, Elder Price. Just say so and put an end to this ridiculous lover’s quarrel.”

“Oh, it’s not -“

“It _is_.” Elder McKinley sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face; “and it’s exhausting. You do nothing but mope around the mission hut, snapping at anyone who so much as looks in your direction. You’re just one big, black hole lately, Elder Price. Everywhere you go, the spirit leaves, and I’m sick of it.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m just _sick_.” Kevin shoves McKinley’s hand from his knee and stands, letting his bowl hit the ground. His head is throbbing, and he will be mad at himself for wasting food later, but for now he just wants to throw up.  
  


* * *

  
The following morning, Kevin gives Arnold very specific instructions, before entering the hospital: “If I pass out, just drag me back to the mission hut. Do _not_ let those doctors touch me.”

It’s met with a concerned look and a “we don’t have to do this, Kev”, but Arnold’s concerns are waved off with a dismissive hand, followed by a reassuring clap on the shoulder.

“Yes, we do,” is the response Kevin gives, as he tries not to lose his breakfast all over Arnold’s shoes. “This is good work we’re doing here, Arnold. Elder McKinley wouldn’t have asked us to come, if it wasn’t.”

Arnold, bless him, still looks concerned, hands wringing anxiously in front of his stomach. “Well, _yeah_ , Kev, but I could’ve done it alone. You look kinda gross, buddy.” Then, as if to emphasize that fact, Arnold takes one giant step back. “To get out of the splash zone,” he explains, poking a finger into his open mouth. “Fifty bucks says you’re gonna hurl.”

“You don’t even have fifty bucks,” Kevin points out, though he does not dispute Arnold’s claim. He can’t, because his companion is probably right. The beans he choked down a few hours ago really want to come back up, but Kevin wills them to stay where they are. He doesn’t have time to be sick. Today’s work is the most important work they’ve done yet, and he refuses to miss it for anything.

“I’ll be fine,” he adds, rolling his eyes when Arnold still won’t come near him. “I promise, alright?”

Arnold seems unconvinced, but nods anyway, stepping around Kevin to push open the door. “Uh, after you,” he says, holding it open.

Kevin rolls his eyes, again.

It’s hot inside the hospital and none of the windows are open. Sweat gathers along Kevin’s hairline, trailing down his forehead towards his eyes. He blinks it away as best as he can, not wanting to wipe it off with his hands. There is no hand sanitizer here, and it is considered rude not to shake everyone’s hand upon greeting them.

Arnold gets quite a few hugs which Kevin is thankfully spared from. Elder Cunningham’s reputation precedes him, it seems, and just this once, Kevin is glad to be looked over. It gives him a chance to look around at the flickering lights and flies and trashcans, overflowing with bloodied tubing and gauze.

To call this place a hospital is generous. Children with broken legs lay in cribs with their feet tied to hang in the air. One of the doctors loosely explains they will remain like that until the bone sets, and if it doesn’t, well - Kevin stopped listening after that.

It is overwhelming; and not for the first time, he feels as helpless as he does sick.

The further in he and Arnold venture, the more Kevin understands why they were sent here. He can only imagine how Dembe must be feeling. “I think Mutumbo was right to worry,” he whispers, poking Arnold’s shoulder.

For once, Arnold leads them. Kevin trails behind, covering his nose and mouth with the fabric of his tie. The sights and smells and sounds of this place are doing very little to calm his roiling stomach and as the screams of laboring mothers start to drift into the hallway, Kevin finds himself holding Arnold back by the wrist, consumed by second thoughts.

“You know, maybe this _isn’t_ such a good idea? I mean, we don’t even know the first thing about giving birth, and it’s not like anything we say is gonna help _that_.” That being the agonizing cries for help, which seem to grow louder with each passing second.

Arnold stares down towards Kevin’s hand, before covering it with one of his own. A slow stroke of his thumb over Kevin’s knuckles has him relaxing a bit, and Arnold smiles once he notices. “Well, duh, of course it’s not gonna; but sometimes a little bit of encouragement is all you need to pull through the hard times, right? I mean, do I have to remind you what happened in Kitguli, Kev?”

Kevin pulls a face.

“Exactly. That’s what I thought.” Arnold grins, baring teeth, and squeezes Kevin’s hand; “– and hey, it’s okay to be afraid, buddy. I don’t really like it here, either; but these people depend on us to help them, now. So, that’s what we’re gonna do.”

Arnold has a really big heart. This isn’t the first time Kevin’s thought that, but it’s the first time he’s noticed just how big. Helping around the village in Kitguli is one thing but walking miles in hundred-degree heat to support someone he’s never even met before, under terrifying circumstance, is completely another.

This isn’t safe _or_ familiar. 

“Buddy,” Arnold urges, breaking Kevin’s reverie. He waves his companion forward; “– c’mon, she’s in here.”

Dembe’s room is small and humid, adorned with only a tiny, square bed and a garbage can over-flowing from the last patient. Kevin shuffles them towards the opposite side of the room, where he presses his back up against the wall and keeps his eyes trained on the ceiling. He does not want to see any of this, does not even want to hear it; but her screams are so loud they permeate his ears, even once they’re covered.

A nurse comes in, handing Dembe some sickeningly sweet-smelling tea while promising it will lessen her pain and make the baby come quicker. Just the sight of it seems to make Dembe gag, so Kevin takes it from her once the nurse steps out of the room.

“It’s not true you know,” he says, staring down into the murky liquid. “The baby will come when it’s ready. No tea in the world’s gonna change that.”

“ _Kevin_.“ Arnold looks distraught; like Kevin just stepped on the last bit of hope Dembe had. “You shouldn’t.”

“What? Tell the truth?” He considers the dirty water Dembe’s tea was made from, hoping it was boiled to remove any impurities, before drinking it down in one swallow. It tries to come back up, but Kevin fights the urge and wins. “Hopefully, they only wanted you to drink one, ‘cause I don’t think I can handle another.”

She smiles, and Kevin smiles back despite his growing nausea. The cup is placed back in Dembe’s waiting hands as Kevin crouches down beside her. “Elder Cunningham and I will be here the whole, entire time, okay? Do you want to squeeze my hand, maybe? It might help when things start to hurt too much.”

His hand is offered and Dembe gratefully takes it, compacting his bones with each worsening contraction. It hurts, but certainly not as much as birthing hurts her, so Kevin says nothing about it. He focuses on Arnold, instead; on the way he stays so calm in this chaotic situation, how his eyes light up when the doctor comes in and claims to see the head, how he cries from absolute joy once the baby is finally born.

Against her better judgement, Dembe names her daughter Kevin. “So she will grow to be strong like your hands,” she says, before allowing him to hold her.

Kevin takes her gladly, beaming with pride at being only the second person to hold her. “Hey, uh, Kevin,” he coos, tickling under her chin. “You’re real cute, you know.”

Arnold laughs, lifting on his toes to peer over Kevin’s shoulder. “It sounds like you’re talking to yourself,” he says, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose.

The baby starts to cry. Kevin hands her back, then pushes Arnold’s glasses into place. As the tip of his finger trails along Arnold’s sweat-slicked skin, his stomach starts to flip worrisomely, and it is only by some miracle that he manages to make it outside before throwing up, the force of which sends Kevin to his knees, fingers digging into red dirt as he heaves. It is embarrassing, especially once Arnold gets outside and kneels beside him, one hand rubbing along the curve of Kevin’s back.

“Awe, hey, I knew you looked bad,” Arnold says, sitting back on his heels. “Want me to get somebody to -“

“No!” Kevin interrupts, spitting onto the ground. “N- no, you - you saw what it was like in there, pal. I just need to get back so I can sleep, that’s all.”

It takes two hours to get back to the mission hut, and once he’s there, Kevin falls into bed and doesn’t wake up until the following afternoon. There’s a Band-Aid on his finger, and a snoring Elder Cunningham beside him, half off the chair that he’s sitting on. Arnold’s curls have fallen over his face, and his glasses sit askew on the bridge of his nose. He looks young, like this, and peaceful; a look Kevin doesn’t see much from his companion, anymore. But unless you really know Arnold, you probably wouldn’t notice the bruises beneath both his eyes or the way his smile is just a little bit strained. Elder Cunningham is just really good at pretending.

Better than Kevin, even.

But Arnold is tired, Kevin knows, and homesick. He talks about his parents, sometimes; how Mrs Cunningham makes _the_ best cheesecake, and how his dad can recite the alphabet backwards in French. Kevin doesn’t think that’s anything worth bragging about, but it’s not like he has anything better when it comes to his own father.

_Your dad was Cosmo the Cougar at BYU_ , Kevin reminds himself, managing to dig up the smallest bit of pride at the thought. Not many dads can say that.

Not many dads want to. Heck, even his own father was reluctant to tell him. Still, it’s something to pull out of his back pocket in a pinch. Which is better than nothing, he supposes.

“Hey, you’re awake.”

Arnold yawns, stretching as he slides off the chair. He lands on the floor with an audible drop. Kevin can’t help the smile that creeps on his expression. “Careful, pal,” he teases, hugging his pillow a little bit closer; “– we saw how they fix broken bones here.”

“Oh, _yeah_.” Arnold pulls a face, dragging the back of a hand across his mouth as he shifts to sit on his knees. “That was _horrible_ , Kev! We gotta do something about that.”

Kevin nods against his pillow, wishing they could. One of the hardest parts of being here is knowing the things they do to help, will never be enough. That the huts they build and the gardens they tend, will never cure AIDS or eradicate poverty or make these communities safer. They’re bandages over a festering wound, that’s all, and it hurts Kevin more than probably even Arnold realizes.

Still, he thinks they could make some improvements on the cribs if they can pull together enough money and materials to build a few new ones; sturdy ones, without rocks beneath the legs to keep them level. And maybe, if they can pull together enough resources, they can even bring some beans, charcoal, and mandazis as well.

“Y’know, for someone with malaria, you sure do smile a whole lot.”

Arnold leans in real close, head tilted, as he observes Kevin’s face. They are so close Kevin can feel Arnold’s breath against his cheek and smell day-old sweat on his skin. He is _this_ close to telling Arnold to go take a shower, but then: “Wait, what? What do you mean, malaria?”

Kevin pushes up on his elbows, bumping foreheads with Arnold. It makes his already sore head hurt even worse. Arnold rubs at his own disdainfully, bottom lip stuck out in a pout as he does. It is a pitiful display, if ever Kevin saw one, and almost makes him forget about the elephant in the room. Or, rather, the mosquito. _Almost_.

“Arnold, what ---“

“Ma-la-ri-a. Elder McKinley came in and jabbed you while you were asleep.” Arnold points to Kevin’s bandaged finger. “He had a suspicion, I guess, and turns out he was right. Oh, but, you don’t have to worry, Kev! You’re not gonna _die_ or anything. Elder McKinley said its as common as a cold, around here, and we still have a bunch of medication, see?”

Shifting his gave to where Arnold is pointing, Kevin sees a half-gone bottle of water and film covered tablets. Small relief with how terrible he feels, but it’s still better than the alternative.

“Oh,” he says, reaching for the bottle. “Thanks.”

The pills go down easy and thankfully stay there, even though Arnold hovers with a trashcan just in case, before setting it back in the corner of their room. Kevin smiles at Arnold’s back, as he does.

“So, yesterday was pretty neat, huh?”

Arnold paws at the back of his neck, shrugging a shoulder as he stares down towards his shoes. “Ha, _yeah_ , it sure was.” A pause; “– wait, which part?”

“The baby, Arnold. I’ve never witnessed something like that, before. It was really kind of beautiful.”

“Beautiful? You freaking threw up once it happened!” Arnold laughs, poking his companion on the nose; “- but also you have, like, _fifteen_ brothers and sisters. How have you not seen that before? Like, statistically, one of them should’ve been born on the kitchen floor, or something.”

“I have four.” Kevin sits himself up, resting his back against the wall; “and the kitchen floor, pal? Really?”

Arnold shrugs.

Kevin’s hands rest splayed over the blanket on either side of his thighs, rubbing over coarse fabric as he thinks. He was nine when Debbie was born, old enough to be at the hospital, but not old enough to be in the room. It was probably for the best, because after yesterday, Kevin isn’t sure he’d want to see his mom in so much pain, regardless of the life it brings forth. It’s hard enough watching her go through the motions of her everyday life; being dutiful to her husband, while tending to her children, never having a moment to herself. There is pain there, too, Kevin knows, because he’s seen it. In those few moments of quiet before her family wakes up, when Kevin has caught her drinking juice by the kitchen window, staring outside as the sun breaks over the horizon.

“My mom likes her privacy,” he explains, stilling his hands as Arnold watches him. “But I got to see her right after my sister was born. I knew it was special, but I guess I didn’t realize just how much, until today.”

Arnold nods, looking a little upset. It strikes Kevin then, that as an only child, Arnold has no idea what it’s like to welcome someone new into the family; to rejoice after every first step, first word, first smile. It makes him a little bit sad, because he knows without doubt that Arnold would have made an incredible brother. Heck, he makes an incredible companion, and an even better best friend.

“Do you wish you had siblings, pal? You can have my brothers, if you want. To be honest, you’d probably be good for them. They need to lighten up; they don’t know how to have any fun.”

But the joke doesn’t lighten Arnold’s mood, and Kevin finds himself wishing he’d never said it; especially once Arnold starts talking about his family in a way he’s never done before. It’s raw and honest and Kevin feels his chest tighten a bit more with each one of Arnold’s words.

“I wasn’t supposed to be an only child, y’know. My parents tried, a _lot_ , to have more, but it just never happened. I heard them talking about it once, when they thought I was asleep. It’s why my mom babies me so much, and my dad’s disappointed all the time. I’m the only kid she has, so she wants me to be safe; and I’m the only kid _he_ has, and my dad has to live with the fact that I’m the only kid that he has. I know I’m not what he wanted. He wanted someone like you, which - he kinda said that at the airport, actually.” Arnold ducks his head; “– but I can’t be like you. I tried and look what happened.”

_You don’t want to be like me_. Kevin’s mind supplies a million reasons why, but he contains them. None of that matters. What matters is that his companion has been carrying this weight alone, when Kevin should have been there to help him. Better late than never, though, so Kevin resolves to take as much of Arnold’s sorrows as he can.

“Hey,” he says, motioning for his companion to come closer; “I really don’t like when you say stuff like that.”

Arnold moves his chair closer towards the bed, without getting up. The legs drag against the splintered hardwoods, creating a sound that hurts Kevin’s ears. He smiles through it, though, because it doesn’t matter. What matters is that his companion sees all the good there is within him, around him, and in everything he does and touches.

“You did something incredible here, alright? You did something no one else could do. You reached people, Arnold; you made them believe in something, when they thought all hope was lost. They have something to live for, now. They have purpose. They smile more, and laugh more, and they’ve started taking pride in the little things. Like Kimbay’s weaving,” he uses as an example. “Gotswana said it was a bullshit waste of time, remember? But now he has three of her blankets in his clinic, keeping people warm when they’re sick. He never would have done that, without you.”

“I _guess_.“ Arnold shrugs, the corner of his mouth twitching in the beginnings of a smile.

“No, it’s true; and look what you did for me.” Kevin reaches out for Arnold’s hand, pulling it up towards his chest. “You kept me going when I wanted to give up, ‘cause you showed that me it’s okay to _not_ be okay; that I’m not alone, even when it sure as heck seems like it sometimes, and you know what you did that no one else has ever done?”

Arnold shakes his head, because, no, he doesn’t know.

“You gave me a best friend; and I don’t think you’ll ever know how much that means to me.”

“ _Kevin_ -“Arnold whines, shifting his weight. He looks kind of uncomfortable, and Kevin doesn’t understand why.

“No, you need to hear this. Everyone always assumes I have this perfect life, that everyone likes me, and that I’ve never wanted for anything, but it’s not true! I want _so_ much, Arnold, and my life isn’t perfect. Why do you think I try so hard, all the time? I know what it might seem like from the outside looking in, but my dad is just as disappointed as yours is, pal.”

He holds up a hand, when Arnold opens his mouth to speak. “He’s always been. Nothing I do is ever enough, you know? I was salutatorian at my high school graduation, but there was no reason I _couldn’t_ _have been valedictorian, Son_.”

Kevin says that last part in a mockery of his father. It’s the first time he’s ever let himself do that before, and it feels kind of good to be honest. “And, okay, the one letter I got from my family? He never once asked if I was okay. We’re in freaking _Africa_ , Arnold! What the heck? At least your Dad asked you that,” he adds, staring down towards his hands. They’re on his lap now, palms up; the Band-Aid on his finger is neon yellow. “If you called my dad right now and said I had malaria, I bet he’d think I deserved it, somehow.”

Kevin is enveloped in a hug then; one that is so reminiscent of the hugs Arnold used to give him, that he lets himself acknowledge for the very first time just how much he’s missed his best friend over the last couple weeks.

Hooking his chin over Arnold’s shoulder, Kevin closes his eyes and exhales slowly. He’s flush with fever, damp with sweat, but this is the best he’s felt since getting here. That means something, he knows; but for now, he just wants to be held.

“Hey, Kev?” After a minute, Arnold gently eases out of their embrace. He is looking at Kevin, hands fidgeting with the hem of his untucked shirt. “Yeah, it’s okay to not be okay, but it’s not okay if _you’re_ not okay; uh -“

Kevin presses a hand to Arnold’s mouth to cut him off. “I’m okay,” he says; and for right now, Kevin means it.

“Okay.” Arnold’s voice is a little bit hoarse; “- me too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Now, uh, get some sleep _best friend_. Things’ll be better in the morning.”  
  


* * *

  
Kevin just wants to be happy.

It is becoming harder to remember what that feels like. Sometimes, if he closes his eyes and really thinks about it, he can find it at the edges of his mind. But _just_. The details become vaguer the longer Kevin stays here, and there is a part of him that fears he will lose them completely. They’re like an itch he just can’t scratch, regardless how hard he tries. So, he tries to get someone to scratch it for him, by working hard and working smart. Maybe someone will thank him; maybe someone will say he’s changed their life. Maybe someone will hug him.

Maybe that someone will be Arnold.

“I’ve seen Indiana Jones,” Kevin says a couple weeks later, while he and Arnold are getting dressed. Their backs are towards each other, and Kevin’s staring at the floor. “ _Raiders of the Lost Ark_ is my dad’s favorite movie.”

It isn’t Kevin’s; his favorite movie is _The Brave Little Toaster_ but admitting that at almost twenty years old seems kind of lame. So, he rambles on about how he’d been inspired to be an archaeologist for a while, omitting the part where he’d excavated his parents’ back yard in the hunt for rare artifacts.

He’d only been ten, but boy, was he determined. Jack had been there, too, wiping down rocks with a damp paper towel while trying to determine if they were fossils or not. Mr Price grounded them for three weeksfor ruining the yardand stopped watching movies with Kevin, altogether. It hurt. The only reason Kevin had even done any of that in the first place was to make his dad proud of him; to find some common thread, no matter how thin, between them.

That hadn’t been the right way to do it, clearly, but Kevin figured out how, eventually, and became the most revered missionary at the Salt Lake MTC. It was only the second time he’d heard his dad say he was proud of him; and at this rate, probably the last. 

“Eh,” says Arnold, before flopping down on his bed. “That movie’s okay, but _Invasion of the Body Snatchers_ is way better. It’s got, like, emotionless-alien duplicates and who doesn’t like that?”

“My dad, I guess. Otherwise it’d be his favorite.” Kevin turns around, offering Arnold a smile as he straightens his tie. He is the only one who still dresses in full missionary attire. Arnold is in pants and garments. McKinley wears his pants rolled up to the knees, with no socks. Neeley wears garment bottoms only, usually, and the rest of them wear hand-me-down shorts from the market. Kevin does not know why he can’t break the habit. Thankfully, no one has asked. 

“Huh. Your family has, like, the _worst_ taste in movies ever.” Arnold gives him a thumb’s down. “You gotta do something about that, Kev.”

“I’ll work on it.” Kevin sits on the corner of his bed, so he can slide on his shoes. As he leans forward to tie them, Arnold clears his throat.

“Hey, uh, you gonna call your mom later?” Arnold slides his socked feet along the hardwoods, back and forth, until he gets a splinter and swears. “It’s just, _I’m_ gonna call mine, so.”

Kevin looks up; “I dunno, pal. I just don’t think she wants to talk to me right now. I mean, you saw the letter my parents sent, right?”

“Uh huh. Uh huh, I _did_ , but – that was from your dad, Kev.”

“Same difference,” Kevin replies, looking up. “Really, I’m not just saying that. She sides with him no matter what, even when he’s wrong.” Especially when he’s wrong. He was always looking for her to back him up when he hit Kevin, or yelled at Kevin, or grounded Kevin for nothing; and she would always give Kevin a long-suffering look, before siding with her husband. Not that Kevin could blame her. His mom is the dutiful wife, after all, and he understands their family dynamic well enough to know what would happen if she did not. He sighs; “I dunno.”

“You totally should, buddy. It’s Mother’s Day. She’s not gonna hate you on _Mother’s Day_.” With that, Arnold stands and bro-punches Kevin’s shoulder. “Just think about it. I’m like _ninety-nine_ percent sure she still loves you.”

Kevin is ninety-nine percent sure, too, which is the why he finds himself in front of the district’s phone a few hours later, smiling weakly as Arnold gives him two enthusiastic thumbs up.

The Elders have all been taking turns using the phone to call their families, while the others wait outside. They came to this agreement the night before, with the understanding this call would likely be difficult for each and every one of them; and so far, that’s been true. Even Zelder walked away in tears, and he’s a convert whose parents aren’t even Mormon, so Kevin can’t understand what he had to cry about.

_They weren’t mad_ , Elder McKinley will tell him later; _his dog died_. 

Even with Arnold’s support, Kevin grows increasingly anxious. It’s why his hand hovers over the phone for a good ten minutes, before finally picking it up. The numbers on the back of their shared calling card are scratched nearly off, so it takes him a few tries to get the code right; but once he does, and the phone starts to ring, Kevin very nearly gets sick. There is a part of him that hopes his mother does not pick up.

“Happy Mother’s Day,” he says, once she does, pacing in front of the telephone as far as the cord will let him. His mother responds with silence.

“We’re making a real difference here, Mom,” he continues. “We’ve been helping one of the nearby villages prepare a few acres of land for a cassava crop; and so long as everything goes well, they should be able to sustain the entire village on what money that brings in alone.”

Nothing.

“Elder Cunningham’s congregation is growing.” He stops, twisting the phone-cord around a finger. “I know you don’t agree with it, but I _promise_ , Mom, I’m doing my best to teach them about our Heavenly Father’s plan of salvation, it’s just – I’m only one person, and, well, the odds are kind of stacked against me here.”

His mom sneezes, and Kevin says _God bless you_ , hoping for a thank you at least; when it does not come, he presses on. “A few weeks ago, we made a trip to a nearby hospital to pray over this lady giving birth.” Kevin ducks his head and lowers his voice; “It was _horrible_. There were all these kids there with broken legs, and you know how they fix those here? They tie their feet in the air for weeks, because they don’t do casts. Not this far outside of Kampala, anyway.”

His mom sucks in a breath.

“They were _alone_ , Mom. They didn’t have anybody there with them, and it made me think about that time I got my tonsils out, and that was nothing, but you were right there, the whole time, and I just - I realized how good I had it; how lucky I am, that you’re my Mom.”

“Are you eating well?” It is the first thing Mrs Price has said to him since before he left on his mission.

Kevin sniffs; he’d almost forgotten the sound of her voice. “Yeah,” he lies. “Three meals a day. It’s nothing like your cooking, though.”

Mrs Price laughs, and Kevin finds himself smiling despite everything.

“We all miss you, Kevin. It’s just not the same, without your smiling face. Debbie has taken to sleeping in your bed and refuses to take your sweatshirt off. Could you send her a letter, dear? Just for her? I’ll make sure she gets it.”

Kevin nods, screwing his eyes shut. “Yeah, of course.” A pause, and then; “How’s Dad; is he still upset about all this?”

“Thank you for calling,” she interrupts, steamrolling over his question. “I love you, Kevin, and we’ll talk on Christmas, won’t we?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I love - “

But the call drops, and he is left listening to a voice that is not his mother’s, telling him there are no minutes left on his calling card. Kevin hangs up the phone, staring at it for a few minutes, before meandering outside. Arnold is right outside the door, waiting for him with open arms. He walks right into them, squeezing Arnold tight.

“I’m proud of you, Kev. Good job, buddy.” 

Arnold starts swaying them back and forth as Kevin frowns into his shoulder. For once, his best friend stays quiet; and for once, Kevin is grateful.  
  


* * *

  
The remainder of Mother’s Day passes by without much being said or done.

It is unsurprising that Kevin is not the only one with disappointed parents. Serving a mission is a sacred calling, and one of the most important things a Latter-Day Saint will ever do. Parents cry when they drop their children off at the Missionary Training Center, not only because they are going to miss them, but because they are so unbelievably proud. It is a bragging right, when your child leaves to serve the Lord; more so when they are successful in inviting others to come unto Christ, since that is the whole entire point.

Kevin can remember his cousin Aaron returning from his mission with twenty-three baptisms under his belt. Mr Price placed his hands on Kevin’s shoulders, right there at the airport, and said; _you’ll come back with twenty-four_. It sounded a bit like a threat.

“You wanna talk about it, buddy?” It is his and Arnold’s night to cook, which means Arnold is cutting vegetables while Kevin sits on the counter, doing nothing. “I mean, it’s okay if you don’t, but you should, ‘cause it’ll help you feel better. Uh, _probably_.” Arnold stills the knife, turning to look at his companion. He smiles; it looks kind of forced, but Kevin smiles back.

“She asked if I was eating,” he says, swinging his legs back and forth. “What about yours?”

“Ha, _well_ – she just cried, mostly, til Dad took the phone away and said he was not surprised _at all_ that this happened. _I thought we talked about this, Arnold_ ,” his companion mocks, swinging the knife carelessly. “ _I’ve already set up a meeting with the Bishop for when you get back_. _We’ll get you back on track_. Like I’m _off_ track or something. Whatever.” Arnold rolls his eyes, returning to the onions, chopping with a newfound fervor. “I mean, what the hell, Kev? You’d think he’d be happy I did something at all, y’know? He’s always pissed I _don’t take initiative_. Now he’s pissed I did.”

“I don’t think that’s why he’s pissed, pal.” Kevin sighs, sliding off the counter and sidling up to his companion. Arnold’s eyes are wet. Kevin isn’t convinced it’s because of the onions. Without much thought, he rests his hand on Arnold’s back and slowly rubs it. “He just doesn’t understand all the good stuff you’re doing here, that’s all. But we’ll help him understand, alright? You and me.”

Arnold sniffs, nods, and then drops the knife.

Kevin has never seen Arnold cry before, and it is probably one of the saddest things he has ever witnessed in his life. Arnold’s entire body shakes in his grief, and he sobs so uncontrollably he ends up gasping for breath and almost throwing up. Kevin thinks it has probably been a long time coming. They’ve all lost something, regardless what they’ve gained, even Arnold.

“Everyone’s probably real hungry,” Kevin says; and those are not the words he means to say. 

Arnold nods, wipes his face with the back of a forearm, and reaches back for the knife. Kevin stops him. “I’ll do it,” he says, bumping Arnold with a shoulder. The knife feels heavy in his hand. “I won’t even cut myself this time.” Maybe. Hopefully. He’s never been good in the kitchen. The last time he cooked all the Elders save for McKinley threw up for two days straight, which is pretty awful when you only have one toilet and a pit latrine between you. He thinks McKinley was spared because he’s an even worse cook than Kevin, and likely immune to food-borne illness. 

“Hey, Kev?” Arnold pokes Kevin’s shoulder, relentlessly, until Kevin stops the knife. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Kevin shrugs, without turning around. “It’s what I’m here for.”  
  


* * *

  
Dinner is a somber affair. Elder Church prays before they eat, even though he doesn’t have to. Kevin assumes they’re all feeling a little bit guilty, tonight.

“Bless this food that it might nourish and strengthen our bodies and do us the good that we need _.”_

It is almost laughable; as though beans and posho could ever do that. Regardless, Kevin finds his arms around his waist and his head bowed towards the ground, same as all the others. “Amen,” he says. _Amen_.

“Well,” Elder McKinley grins, seemingly pleased. “That was a pleasant surprise. Thank you, Elder Church, for reminding us to be thankful for all we _do_ have.” Kevin arches a brow as McKinley stares, longingly, into his bowl. “That being said, I’m curious: if you boys could eat anything in the world, right now, what would it be?”

Kevin stares down at his posho. It is becoming hard to remember a time when the district could afford much else. Cornmeal is cheap and available, and every trip to the market returns at least twenty pounds of the stuff. Sometimes they pair it with rabbit or goat, but usually, they eat it like this – mostly plain and with their fingers, wishing it was anything else. 

The Elders go around in a circle, partaking in Connor’s silly little game as they eat their dinner. Kevin only half pays attention as Elder Thomas cries about his grandmother’s tuna casserole and Elder Church describes his mother’s six cheese lasagna with a pathetic look of longing. 

Kevin grew up eating salad and baked chicken. They were the only two things his mother could make. _Her failsafe’s_ , his father called them. Kevin would rather eat posho. 

“My sister makes the _best_ chicken salad,” Neeley boasts, pulling Kevin from his thoughts. “It’s famous. People come from all over Saskatchewan to taste it.”

Kevin snorts, rolls his eyes, then says just a little too loudly: “So famous, I’ve never even heard of it.”

The next few seconds are a blur. Kevin’s bowl goes flying, as he’s tackled into the dirt. Neeley’s fist comes down against his face as someone chants _fight!_ from behind them. It is juvenile, but not unfamiliar. Kevin feels eleven years old, again.

“You’re such a jerk!” Neeley shouts, pinning Kevin down. “I _hate_ you!” 

Kevin hates Neeley, too; and if he was in the mood for two black eyes, he would probably say so.

“Alright, Elder Neeley, that’s quite enough.” McKinley frowns as he stands and stares down at Kevin; “Elder Church, give me a hand, please. The rest of you: go away.”

It is immediate relief once Neeley is pulled off him. Kevin finds himself content to just lay in the dirt, one arm draped over his face to hide at least some of the indignity as the other Elders start to disperse. Their conversations drift further and further away, leaving him with a pain in his head that intensifies with each agonizing second that passes.

“Just say it,” he says, letting McKinley peel the arm from his face. “I know it’s killing you, not to.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say it’s _killing_ me,” comes the response. “But since you insist: must you _always_ antagonize him? You know he doesn’t like you, and you know how this always ends up.” McKinley sighs, offering Kevin a hand. “You’ll be doing laundry for the next three months; I hope you know that.”

“Does it look bad?” he asks, ignoring his punishment.

McKinley snorts; “Define bad.”

“Do I look like Elder Neeley?” Kevin tries, and fails, to keep the grin off his face; “ _That_ bad.”

“I’m pleading the fifth.” McKinley pulls Kevin to his feet, steering him towards the mission hut with a hand on his shoulder. The other Elders look up from where they sit around the coffee table, playing cards and passing around a bottle of Waragi. Arnold has tears in his eyes.

Elder Thomas whistles; “Boy, that looks like it _hurts_.”

“It better.” Neeley scowls at Kevin, who scowls in return. “Otherwise what was the point?”

Kevin stops, abruptly, causing McKinley to bump into him. His hands ball into fists at his sides, and for a split-second Kevin thinks he might actually hit somebody; but before he can, McKinley steps in front of him, clasping both hands behind his back as he addresses Elder Neeley. 

“Disrespect Elder Price all you wish, but do not disrespect _me_ , Elder. I am still district leader, and I am still in charge of everyone’s welfare, including his. Every single time you do something like this,” he hooks a thumb over his shoulder, towards Kevin; “you rub it in my face that I’ve failed. I am _aware_ of that, Elder Neeley. I do _not_ need to be reminded every single time someone looks at you funny.”

Neeley rolls his eyes; “Whatever.”

“No, not whatever: _Yes, Elder McKinley. It won’t happen again, Elder McKinley_. _Anything, so you don’t write to my mother and tell her about the string of bastard children I’m leaving behind, Elder McKinley_.”

McKinley arches a brow; Neeley’s eyes widen; Kevin is impressed.

“Alright, _God_.” Neeley crosses his arms and turns away from the table; “I won’t hit Elder Price, again.”

“Thank you, that’s all I ask.” McKinley turns, ushering Kevin into their tiny bathroom. “Sit,” he says, pointing towards the toilet. “I’ll be right back.”

Elder McKinley returns a few minutes later with Arnold in tow, who carries a piece of frozen oxtail in one hand and a bottle of orange _Fanta_ in the other. “I’ll leave you to it, Elder,” McKinley says, patting Arnold’s shoulder before closing the door behind him. Kevin slumps against the back of the toilet as his companion moves to press the oxtail to the side of his face.

“Where’d you get that?” Kevin points to the _Fanta_ , which Arnold set atop the sink. “How come you didn’t get me one?”

Arnold’s cheeks flush, and he ducks his head to avoid Kevin’s gaze. “Ha, _well_ , it’s a girlfriend thing,” he says, without looking up. “From my girlfriend.”

“Your girlfriend.” Kevin arches a brow, reaching for the bottle. “You have a girlfriend, huh?”

“Hey!” Arnold tries to grab it first, and in doing so topples it over. Soda spills into the sink. “Yeah, my girlfriend. You know, _Naba_?” He picks up the bottle, staring mournfully at how little is left. “Hot girl, _an actual girl_ , who actually _likes_ me?”

“Whatever.” Kevin snatches the Fanta from Arnold’s hand, bringing it to his lips and finishing it in one swallow. He tosses the bottle behind him; it falls onto the floor of their shower and breaks. “Since when is she your girlfriend?”

“Since forever, duh. Since right after the Mission President.” Arnold gives Kevin a funny look, like Kevin should have known this already. Kevin didn’t – he just thought they were oddly affectionate - and isn’t sure how he feels, now that he does. “We’ve already been to second base.” Arnold holds up both his hands, cupping them around air. Kevin catches the oxtail, before it falls onto the floor. “It was a _wesome_!”

“That’s a sin,” Kevin says, shifting on the toilet to turn his back to Arnold. “Nothing about that is awesome.”

“Uh, _okay_.” He can feel Arnold’s eyes on him. “You’re wrong, but.“ 

“But nothing, Arnold! You don’t even know her, and you’re already doing _that_?” Kevin tightens his grip around the oxtail; he can feel it starting to thaw beneath his fingers. “I knew you were a terrible Mormon, pal, but I didn’t think you were a terrible person.”

“I’m _not_ , I just – “

There’s a knock on the door. Elder McKinley pokes his head inside, frowning when Kevin does not turn around. “Alright, Elders,” he says, stepping back into the tiny space. Squeezing past Arnold, he settles himself between Kevin and the wall. Kevin refuses to look at him. “We need to put that oxtail back before it thaws out completely. Elder Cunningham,” McKinley removes the oxtail from Kevin’s hand, offering it to Arnold; “if you’d be so kind.”

Arnold shuffles his feet; Kevin can feel him staring. “Yeah, okay.”

When the door shuts again, Kevin allows himself to relax. “Thanks, for that.”

“For what?” McKinley crouches down, meeting Kevin’s gaze with a hesitant smile. “Getting rid of him? Because I certainly didn’t do that. He’s your companion and you share a room, Elder Price. It’s not that simple.”

“I don’t want to share a room, anymore.” He crosses his arms over his chest, narrowing his gaze. “And yes, it is.”

McKinley sighs; “You can share a room with Elder Neeley, then. That’s your only other option, Kevin.”

“Kevin, huh? Thought using our names was _inappropriate_.” Kevin uses finger quotes, earning him a finger-flick to the tip of his nose.

“Yes, well.” McKinley squares his shoulders, staring at anything in the room that isn’t Kevin. “At this point, what’s the difference?”

Kevin shrugs, because he honestly does not know.

“Anyway, as I was saying,” McKinley keeps his eyes trained over Kevin’s shoulder. “It’s Neeley’s room or your own.”

“Wow, thanks, Elder McKinley. It’s almost like you _want_ me to be miserable.” Kevin frowns, turning his head. “Why can’t I share a room with Elder Church?”

“Connor,” he says, because what’s the difference. “And because I said so. Now, wash your hands and get out. My companion needs to brush his teeth before bed.”  
  


* * *

  
Since his only option is to sleep in Neeley’s room, Kevin stays awake.

It’s boring in the mission hut, late at night and all alone. He is used to Arnold’s incessant babbling, not incessant quiet. It makes him uncomfortable, and gives him time to think, which he does not want to do. So, at half two in the morning, he finds himself playing a solo game of _Connect Four_ by lantern-light, just for the distraction. Somehow, he still doesn’t win.

“How impressive. I don’t even think _I_ could do that, and I’m bad at pretty much everything.”

“No, you’re not. Stop fishing for compliments.” Kevin releases the game pieces, watching them fall to the table. “It’s pathetic.”

“You wound me, Elder Price.” Connor brings one hand up to his chest, while the other plucks black game pieces out of the newly formed pile.

Kevin rolls his eyes. “So, we’re back to formalities, huh? That didn’t last long.”

“Yes, well, neither did your manners.” Connor lowers his hand, using both to sweep the black pieces towards his side of the table. After considering the game for a moment, he drops one in. “Your turn.”

They play for over an hour, until Kevin gets tired of losing and tosses the game back into its box with a huff. Losing is bad enough on its own, but it’s remarkably worse when you lose to someone who gloats every freaking time that they win. Connor is still fist pumping the air, when Kevin returns from putting the game back. “I get it, alright? You’re amazing, wonderful, talented, and whatever other stupid shit you want to be called.” Crossing his arms, Kevin scowls and looks away, towards the front door. He wonders if he should run out of it, into the dark and unknown. Would he feel better? Would he get eaten by lions? Would getting eaten by lions make him feel better? Would it make everyone else?

“Arnold is worried about you,” Connor says, pulling Kevin from his reverie. He frowns after a moment’s thought; “again.”

There is an ounce of satisfaction to be gained from that statement, Kevin thinks, so he allows it to sweep over him.

“He seems to do that a lot,” Connor continues, folding his hands atop the table. They slide forward as he leans towards Kevin. “Lately, anyway, and there must be a reason, so I’m wondering if you’d like to tell me what that reason is.”

“I don’t have to,” Kevin points out, still looking away.

“No,” Connor agrees. “You don’t.”

They sit in silence after that; Connor staring at Kevin, and Kevin staring at the door. The seconds pass by in clicks from their plastic, wall-mounted clock. It is almost like a competition, seeing which one of them will open their mouth first. Kevin knows he can win this game, so he makes no effort to speak. There isn’t much to talk about, anyway. He doesn’t know what’s wrong, and he doesn’t know how he feels, either. Unhappy, he supposes. Depressed.

“I told my mother I’m gay.” Connor breaks the silence first; Kevin can’t help but feel pleased. “For the second time,” he clarifies; “on Mother’s Day.”

“Congratulations,” Kevin ventures, because he does not know what else to say, or why Connor is even telling him.

“I feel better, now that I have.”

Ah. Kevin inhales, slowly, then exhales just as measured. “You _know_ you’re gay, though,” he points out, finally turning towards Connor. His hands drop to the table. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, aside from the obvious.”

“Which would be?” Connor is reaching, for something, and Kevin is not sure he wants to hand it over.

“We’re in _Africa_. What do you think?” Kevin scowls as Connor shrugs, nonchalantly, as though he has no idea what’s wrong with this place. It serves only to fuel his frustration. “Look, I went on a mission because I wanted to help people. Because I wanted to make a difference, no matter how small, because I believe in the greater good; but I’m not doing that, here. I – I _can’t_. Nothing is getting better! Our friends are still suffering, and we’ve forgotten why we’re here.” He stops; breathes. “Well _I_ haven’t; but the rest of you -,” Kevin waves a hand, looking back towards the door.

“Please enlighten me on the rest of us, Kevin, because I have no idea what you’re referring to.” Connor’s voice is even, but Kevin can tell he’s upset. He has this terse way of speaking that reminds Kevin of his mother, sometimes.

“I’m out there every single day, getting my hands dirty, getting -- _beat up_ , while the rest of you dance around with the villagers, just so you can get to – to _second base_.” He spits the word, wishing it was at Arnold’s feet. “None of us went on a mission to fuck,” he adds under his breath, feeling strange at the use of that word.

Connor hears him, though, and per usual cannot keep quiet. “I think Elder Neeley did,” he says, unhelpfully. “But that’s not who you’re mad at, is it?”

“I’m going to bed.” Kevin stands, glowers at Connor and then stomps over towards the couch. He throws himself upon it. It hurts. Somehow, he forgot it was made of mostly broken springs. “Goodnight, Elder McKinley.”

Connor sighs, turning down the lantern before joining Kevin by the couch. He puts his mouth very close to Kevin’s ear; “You’ve got laundry for _four_ months now, thanks to that attitude of yours.” He smiles, tightly; “Goodnight, Elder Price.”  
  


* * *

  
Kevin thinks Connor must have said something to Arnold.

Rule 72 is reinforced over breakfast. It’s a sudden thing, announced once Kevin joins them. Arnold hits his fork against the table, instead of his glass, and says he has an announcement. “It’s, like, _super_ important,” he declares, holding up a hand. “I realize we might have gone a little _off_ track, after being shut down, but, um, we should get back _on_ track. For the good of the mission and our friends. Obviously.” His eyes bore into Kevin’s as he says it. Arnold looks exhausted, and Kevin finds himself inwardly pleased that he was not the only one who did not sleep last night.

“So, what does that mean if we don’t have our companion anymore?” Elder Neeley raises a hand like he’s back in high school. “Mine left like a pussy, first chance he got.”

“Language, Elder Neeley,” McKinley chides, without looking up.

“Just find another one; I dunno, dude.” Arnold tears his eyes away from Kevin, for just a moment; long enough to say: “So long as it isn’t mine. You can’t have him.”

Neeley snorts, giving Kevin a venomous look from the opposite end of the table. “Don’t worry, I don’t want him. Full offense, Price.”

Kevin bristles. He can guess why Elder Neeley hates him so much: he is, after all, half the reason they’re in this mess, and there are easier people to get along with, he’s well aware – but that doesn’t make the continuous barrage of insults any easier. They hurt; regardless they’re coming from the world’s biggest jerk.

“Well, now that _that’s_ settled.” And just like that, Connor puts a stop to the whole conversation. 

After breakfast, Arnold takes Kevin’s hand and tugs him away from the mission hut. 

“What’re you doing?” Kevin tries to pull away, but Arnold does not let him go. “You look sick. I don’t want you to touch me.”

“I just miss you, best friend. It’s like we never see each other anymore, what gives?”

“You tell me,” Kevin replies coolly, trailing after Arnold. He has no idea where they’re headed. Arnold is taking them off the beaten path, through some remarkably tall grass that scratches Kevin’s arms as they pass through it. There is hardly a cloud in the sky, making for a beautiful day, visually, but physically Kevin is wilting beneath the heat. His garments are stuck to his skin, his hair has fallen, and his palm is slick against Arnold’s. It’s disgusting, so he tries to pull away again.

Arnold sighs; “Will you stop, Kev? We’re almost there, okay? Then you can do whatever you want with your hands.”

Kevin’s cheeks burn and he thinks he might strangle Connor, first chance he gets. This little foray into the savannah with Arnold feels like the least genuine thing they’ve ever done, and that hurts worse than Arnold ignoring him. At least when Arnold ignores him, he’s doing it because he wants to; Kevin is pretty sure his companion would rather be with Naba than transporting him around like a child.

“I’m not a kid,” Kevin says aloud, prompting Arnold to stop. His companion turns, reaching with his free hand to pat Kevin’s cheek.

“I know that, Kev, buddy, okay? That’s not what this is about. I just thought it’d be, I dunno, _fun_ , I guess. Naba brought me here, once, and - “

_Of course, she did_ , Kevin thinks bitterly; “– and she brought you to second base.”

Arnold laughs. It’s piercing and hurts Kevin’s ears. “Yeah, and, oh, _man_ , Kev. It was so great. Like, _so_ great.”

Kevin tunes him out and thinks about anything other than Arnold. He thinks about how his arms are starting to itch from all the grass, and how he’s already hungry even though they just had breakfast. He thinks about the eating hut that is very nearly finished now, and of all the other huts they still need to build before they leave. He thinks about himself, and his sister, and about the typhoid he’s probably going to get. He thinks about his mother, and how he’s never been kissed, and -

His thoughts are cut off as Arnold gives him a hefty push, causing Kevin to stumble forward. He comes close to falling, but his companion holds him back just in time. “Ta-da!” Arnold lets go to shove jazz hands in his face. “Surprise, Kev.”

They are standing on the edges of a papaya farm, which has a trampoline right in the middle. If Kevin had to guess, it was probably left there to rust by some of the useless Christian missionaries the villagers sometimes talk about.

“Someone -,” Arnold starts.

“Elder McKinley,” Kevin interrupts, already knowing what his companion is going to say.

“ _Someone_ ,” Arnold says, again; “thought you might be feeling like crap, so _I_ thought – and I did this part, all by myself – that we should do something fun, to, like, take your mind off whatever’s bothering you.” He smiles; Kevin sort-of smiles back.

Kevin appreciates the gesture but considering he’s _with_ one of things that’s bothering him, he doubts it’s going to work. Still, they did come all this way, so he doesn’t mind playing along. With a determined nod, Kevin kicks off his shoes and takes off running. The breeze feels almost cool against his face.

The last time he was on a trampoline, Kevin was thirteen years old at and his Aunt Marian’s house. They weren’t allowed to go there very often, only if their mom needed someone to watch them in a pinch. She’d been excommunicated for some reason he still doesn’t know, but they’d been close and he grew to really miss her. She was, by far, the fun Aunt out of twenty, and the whole, entire reason he has every single Madonna album hidden on his iPhone in a folder labeled _hymns_. Jack thinks she’s either a lesbian or involved in plural marriage. Kevin’s starting to think she just came to her senses.

For a while, he bounces alone. Arnold stays behind, watching from a distance. It makes Kevin feel a little uneasy, but it does not deter him from forcing himself to have a good time. He can’t remember the last time he did anything like this in recent memory, not even from when he was home. The last few years in Utah were spent preparing for his mission. Kevin didn’t have time for fun, and no one ever told him to make any.

“Why aren’t you up here with me?” he calls out, eventually, hands cupped around his mouth. “I thought you wanted to do something fun, together?”

Arnold shuffles his feet, before finally stepping out of his shoes. It takes him a while to walk over towards Kevin. “I dunno, Kev. I’m not really good at that sort of thing.”

“What, jumping?” Kevin rolls his eyes, then comes to a wobbly stop. “Just sit on the darn thing, then, and let me do all the work. You’ll still bounce a little, I think.”

It takes Arnold a few tries to clamor up beside him, but once he’s up there, and seated, Kevin starts to jump again.

Life in Uganda is hard. Harder than Kevin thought it would be, since they have no outside support. What money they have left is quickly dwindling, and the district is down to posho, beans, and what fruit they can scavenge from the landscape. Kevin has had to make two new notches on his belt, and Elder Cunningham can almost squeeze into Elder Neeley’s shirts. Everyone is hungry. Everyone is tired. Everyone is homesick.

When some of the Elders left, right from the start, Kevin thought they were selfish; but now he thinks they might have been smart. He doesn’t feel well, at all, in any capacity; which is why, when Arnold finally decides to bounce with him, he realizes just how badly he needed this. 

“Awe, hey.” Arnold bounces a little closer to Kevin; “This was supposed to make you happy, Kev. It wasn’t supposed to make you upset, I _swear_.”

“I am happy.” He doesn’t realize he's been crying until he hears his own voice break. “This is the happiest I’ve been since we got here, I think.”

There were a few times when Kevin thought _maybe_ , but then he’d see Kimbay mourning for her husband, or receive word about the General and he’d have to throw up. There is nothing happy about what he has seen or what he has been through; just like there is nothing happy about losing your best friend to the place that destroyed you. Which is partly why Arnold does not know about the General. Kevin is too scared to tell him, because he knows telling Arnold will not change a thing. Arnold will still love it here, and Kevin does not want to hate him for that. It wouldn’t be fair, but - life isn’t fair.

He reaches for Arnold’s hands, and they continue to jump, higher and higher, until Arnold fumbles a landing and they fall to the mat in fits. It feels good to laugh; Kevin was worried he’d forgotten how. 

“Hey, Arnold?” Kevin rolls onto his side and moves in a little closer, until their knees touch and their noses touch and Arnold goes very, very still.

“Uh huh?”

Kevin smiles, genuinely; “Thanks.”  
  


* * *

  
Kevin sits on the counter of the district’s outdoor kitchen, legs swinging back and forth, as Connor tries to bake a cake. Not an easy feat, considering they don’t have a real oven or any necessary ingredients, but he’s determined. Kevin likes that about him.

“I take it your little outing with Arnold went alright?” Connor looks up from where he’s knelt on the ground, poking at the charcoal with a stick. It took him four tries to get the fire started, thanks to the wind, and it’s taken a lot of effort to keep it going.

“It went fine, even though it was your idea.” Kevin does his best to keep the disappointment out of his voice, but Connor is very astute.

“Not completely. I think he’s been wanting to cheer you up for a while, he just didn’t know how.”

“He doesn’t have to _do_ anything. It’d be enough for him to just sit there and ask me what’s wrong, unprompted.” Kevin’s hands wrap around the edge of the counter, as he stills his legs.

“Would you even tell him?” Connor sits back on his heels, curious.

Kevin shakes his head. “No. Not all of it.”

“Well, there you go. That’s probably why he doesn’t.” Connor shrugs, before tossing the stick into the fire. “What would even be the point?”

“The _point_ ,” Kevin scoffs; “is that I’d know he actually cares.”

Connor rolls his eyes. “Oh, please. Arnold cares about you more than is polite. Whenever he’s around you, I feel like I need an adult. He’s obsessed.”

“He’s obsessed with Nabulungi,” Kevin amends, sliding off the counter. “Not me.”

“Oh, so _that’s_ what this is about.” Connor holds out his arms, and Kevin helps him back up. They are standing very close to one another, so it takes very little effort for Connor to lean in and whisper against Kevin’s ear; “You’re jealous.”

It sends an odd sort of thrill through Kevin’s body, feeling Connor’s breath against his ear; but the feeling is quick to pass, upon Connor’s accusation. Kevin is _not_ jealous and says as much as he shoves Connor away. “Of _her_?” he shouts, incredulously. “Oh, please. I’m –”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Connor warns, plastering a hand over Kevin’s mouth. It smells like smoke. “Nabulungi is our friend, not your enemy. Be mad at Arnold, if you have to, but leave her out of this.”

Kevin narrows his eyes and swats Connor’s hand away. “He’s supposed to be _my_ best friend,” he snaps. “Not her – her _boyfriend_.”

“Why can’t he be both?” It’s a legitimate question, and Kevin does not have an answer. He thinks Connor knew that, somehow, and that’s why he asked. “Well. Now that we’ve gotten _that_ out of our system, I’d like to finish this cake.”

It does not take them very long. He and Connor work well together, when they want to, and Kevin finds himself almost having fun. It probably helps that Connor pulls out a half-jug of Lira Lira right after they put the sheet pan in the oven. They pass it back and forth, sitting on the ground, waiting for their sorry excuse of a cake to bake.

“My mom converted before I was born,” Connor says, wiping his mouth with the back of a hand. “She was a single mom and easily swayed, I guess. I don’t know.” He slides the jug across the dirt, towards Kevin. “Lucky me.”

“Huh,” Kevin says, lifting the jug to his lips. He takes a long, covetous sip, before passing it back. “I come from a long line of Mormons. My dad can trace us back to Joseph Smith, which is a pretty big deal to my ward. That’s how I know I’m gonna get kicked out.”

Connor smiles against the lip of the jug; “Why does that not surprise me. Kevin Price, direct descendant of our Prophet. It explains a lot, actually.” He laughs, but Kevin struggles to find what’s funny. Maybe he isn’t drunk enough, yet.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, making grabby hands for the gin. Connor obliges, and Kevin forgives him for his ill-intended comment.

“It explains why you still take this so seriously, that’s all.” By this, Connor means their mission. Kevin knows, because he waves a hand towards Kevin’s nametag before stealing back the gin. “You shouldn’t, you know. It doesn’t even matter, anymore.”

“It matters,” Kevin says, blinking Connor back into focus. “Of course, it matters. Sure, maybe I don’t make the villagers laugh like Arnold’s stories do, but having a working well again certainly made them happy. And, you know what? That well is still going to be there when we leave, and _that_ matters, because one-day Mafala isn’t going to be strong enough to walk to the borehole the next village over, and we need to think about that. It’s important. It’s _serious_.”

“Elder Neeley was wrong about you,” Connor interjects, offering a lopsided smile. “You’re not a dickbag _or_ a douche.”

“Wow, thanks.” Kevin snatches the jug from Connor’s hands and tips his head back, swallowing as much as he can in one go. He is starting to feel a bit better; a little less defensive over hearing what the other Elders think of him. Which is probably good, since they tend to think a lot. “You know, I really don’t like that jerk.”

Connor laughs. It is a nice sound; a happy sound; and the first time Kevin has heard it. “I don’t, either,” he admits. “But I don’t have much of a choice.” Waving for Kevin to come closer, Connor lowers his voice once he does; “I’m the _district leader_ , so I have to like everybody.” 

“Even me?” Kevin grins. The two of them are very close.

“Even you.” Connor’s hands come to rest on Kevin’s shoulders, and then slide down towards his chest. “Especially, you.”

There is a kindness in Connor’s eyes that almost reads like pity, and for as much as Kevin loathes being pitied, it is something to know that he is still someone’s favorite. Resting his hands over Connor’s, he gazes at some point in the distance, lost in his thoughts until Connor says his name. Kevin glances up, startled, as his eyes struggle to focus on the boy sat across from him. “Hey,” he whispers, tipping his head to the side. His words are starting to slur, and his head feels like it’s filled with cotton wool. “What do you think my dad would say, if I told him there’s a boy here who likes me?”

“I think that depends,” Connor says, carefully. “On whether, or not, you like that boy in return.”

“Hm.” Kevin considers Connor’s words for a moment, as best he can, before giving Connor’s hands a squeeze. “When I ten, I told my dad Joseph Smith was handsome.”

“I see.” Connor inches closer, until their knees are touching and there is hardly a space in between them. His eyes flash with anger, as though he already knows how this story will end; and honestly, he probably does.

“I don’t even know why I said it,” Kevin laughs, but it is a sad and bitter sound. “When you’re young, you’re stupid and honest, because you just don’t know any better. You think your parents love you, even if they don’t; and that they’ll always love you, no matter what.” His hands tighten over Connor’s. “He said I was disgusting and let my brother beat me up.”

Connor frowns; “Oh, Kevin.”

“So, I think – I think maybe I shouldn’t tell him.” Carefully, Kevin removes Connor’s hands from his chest. His skin vibrates beneath the warmth they leave behind. It is a good feeling; one he has never felt before but knows he would like to feel again. Leaning forward, he dares to press his mouth to Connor’s. He misses, kissing the edge of Connor’s jaw. Kevin grins, words slurred against the McKinley’s heated skin; “Even if I do.”

“Kevin…”

“Being Mormon _sucks_ ,” Kevin groans, scrubbing a hand over his face. Connor’s arms wrap tightly around his own waist.

“Yes,” he agrees; “it does suck. You can stop being one at any time, you know.”

Kevin shakes his head, which only serves to make him dizzy. He feels like maybe he’s going to throw up. “Who am I, if I’m not _Mormon_?” He shrugs, palms up, and then falls back onto the dirt. “I – I dunno.”

Connor leans over him, placing a hand on either side of Kevin’s shoulders, keeping a fair amount of distance between them. It hurts, a bit. “You’re Kevin,” he says, matter-of-factly. “That’s who.”

They stay there like that for a while, just looking at one another, until Kevin can’t keep Connor in focus and decides to close his eyes.

“You’re also drunk,” Connor amends, carefully turning Kevin’s head to the side. Kevin wants to laugh, but he can’t; wants to lick the gin from Connor’s tongue, but he can’t; wants to say that yes, he is drunk, but he _meant_ it, whatever that was.

But Kevin can’t. He is much too tired.   
  


* * *

  
It is Arnold who finds Kevin outside, face down in the dirt, beside a pool of his own vomit.

“Sick, dude, this is our kitchen. The bathroom is _literally_ right over there.” Arnold points in the wrong direction, then tries his best to heft Kevin up. It takes him a few tries, but eventually Kevin finds himself back on his feet, albeit a bit unsteady, and being walked towards the district’s tiny shower. 

“Gosh, I feel _horrible_ ,” he complains, scrubbing a hand over his face. His mouth tastes sour, and his head and stomach are in competition to see which one can hurt Kevin worse. So far, his stomach is in the lead.

“I mean, you drank pretty much all the gin we had, buddy. What did you expect? To feel _good_?” Arnold laughs, and Kevin’s head finally wins out. “Nah.”

Arnold helps him undress. When he reaches for the buttons of Kevin’s temple garments, Kevin slaps his hand away. “What the heck are you doing? I’ll shower with them _on_ , alright?”

“I mean, it’s nothing I’ve never seen before, Kev. I have one, too, buddy; but whatever.” Arnold reaches around Kevin to turn the shower on. It takes a few minutes for the water to work through the filter and stream through the showerhead. It’s ice cold. For once, Kevin welcomes it.

Sitting on the floor of the shower, he draws his knees up to his chest to maintain some sense of modesty as Arnold shampoos his hair. It is oddly domestic, and Kevin finds that he likes it. This is almost how they used to be, before Arnold traded him in for a girl. It makes Kevin almost glad to have woken up with a hangover. 

“You get ten minutes in here, today. You’re welcome,” Arnold says, massaging Kevin’s scalp. “I’m not gonna shower, ‘cause honestly you need one _way_ more than me. You look like shit, and you smell like shit. Plus, Neeley may or may not have drawn on a dick on your cheek with a pen.”

There is no may-not-have about it. Neeley _did_ draw a dick on Kevin’s cheek; and even though Arnold scrubs at it until Kevin’s skin is angry and red, it does not go away. It barely even fades. Kevin can’t help but feel as though he deserves it.

Maybe Connor is right. Maybe he does need to put some distance between himself and the church. A fresh start could be just what he needs, and it’s not like he has to give up his faith, completely; he can just make it his own. Heck, Arnold did that, and he is one of the happiest people Kevin has ever known most of the time. But at nineteen years old, Kevin has yet to make a decision for himself that hasn’t been influenced by his parents or God or the needs and wants of the church, so he doesn’t know how. People say he’s selfish, but the opposite is true. Kevin has never put himself first; not really.

But maybe it’s time to start.

Maybe it’s time to take Arnold aside and say _I miss you_ and _I miss how we used to be._

Maybe it’s time to look at Connor with a sober mind and an open heart and wonder _what if?_ and _why not?_

Maybe it’s time to put one foot in front of other and leave all of _this_ behind him.

Who knows?

Certainly not Kevin; but he thinks maybe it's time to find out. 

**Author's Note:**

> happy holidays! thank you for reading!
> 
> this really wanted (needed?) to be longer, but time constraints will do that to you :) in any case, i hope you enjoyed!


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